Cradle
by fadagaski
Summary: Cloud and the AVALANCHE gang go head to head with Planet's reforming political and religious situation. Also, there are pirates of a kind. Not humour, no slash, WIP, NANO 07 and 08. *DISCONTINUED*
1. To Sea

TITLE: Cradle  
AUTHOR: Allocin  
SUMMARY: It's been three years since Omega, four since Bahamat SIN and the almost-return of Sephiroth, six since Meteor very nearly destroyed Planet. Things are finally starting to look up – no new, Mako-enhanced threat has emerged in the last twelve months, and the citizens of Planet can at last get on with the business of living. The problem is, when people start planning for the future, there is inevitably a difference in opinion. For some, stability comes from sound governance. For others, from devout religious belief in the strength of the Planet. And for a select few? Treachery, kidnapping, and theft are the only way to live.  
RATING: PG (rating to go up later ... probably)  
CATEGORIES: Action, Family, Politics, Spiritual  
CHARACTERS: Cloud/Tifa, Marlene, Denzel, Rufus, Turks, AVALANCHE, OCs, Shelke  
A/N: I began this story for NaNoWriMo 2007. I wrote about 33k and then ran out of steam. A year later I dug it out from my harddrive, brushed the dust off, and continued it for NaNo 2008. Will it require NaNo 2009 to be finished? NaNo 2010? Who knows?  
DISCLAIMER: CoFFVII is owned in its entirety by Square Enix. I make no profit and intend no offense from this derivitive work of fiction. Please don't sue.

**Chapter One: To Sea**

The sound of the horn thundered through the air, a deep baritone bellow that thrummed every bone of the gathered spectators. Port Junon had never been so busy. There was not a foot of space left along the quayside railings as people from all over the eastern continent crowded the docks that were home to the _Intrepid_. Vendors peddled cheap souvenirs, handmade shell necklaces and little wooden boats with garish paint still tacky to the touch. Every other stall sold fish – steamed, smoked, or grilled – and mussels, candied apples to follow and cheap cider to wash it all down. The tang of the ocean weaved through and beneath the smell of greasy food, sea salt thick on everyone's tongues. It was a full-blown festival in honour of the _Intrepid_. Junon's salty blood was in her steel, and it was with bittersweet joy that those who built her, keel to flagpole, celebrated her very first launch.

Marlene dragged her father by his good hand through the crowd of passengers blocking the steps up to the poopdeck, and leaned far over the rails to scan the sea of upturned faces below. She had to squint in the blinding sunlight, one hand raised to shield her eyes. "I can't see them!" she cried in dismay. Barret, standing behind her, pointed towards a street lamp set further back along the main road, where an identifiable tuft of spiky blond hair stood out amongst the crowd. "Cloud!" Marlene called, waving her arm. "Tifa! Over here!"

"Hey, Spiky!" Barret's voice boomed over the cacophony around them, just before the engines grumbled to life. There was a slight shuffle as people turned to see who the domineering man had called. Marlene laughed and waved again, delighted, when Denzel's head suddenly appeared above everybody else's; she could just make out that he was balancing precariously with one foot braced against the street lamp and one hand on Cloud's shoulder. The _Intrepid_ sounded her horn again, scattering the few gulls that had flown back to the huge chimney towering over the harbour. The whole ship rattled, engines shuddering into higher gear as – slowly but surely – she inched away from the shore.

"We're moving!" Marlene cried, delighted, clapping her hands. All around her people were waving fervent goodbye to those left on land. Excited chatter buzzed through the air as the vessel gained gradual speed, moving laboriously out of the port. Marlene cast one last look over the crowd at the harbour, but she couldn't see Denzel or Cloud anymore.

"C'mon, kid. Let's go further up," Barret said. She nodded, beaming at him. He passed through the mass of passengers with ease, and she followed in his wake. The bow was much less densely packed as everyone was at the stern watching Junon fade into the distance. A strong wind blew from the north, warm and moist. Marlene braced her arms against the railing and turned her face into the breeze. The spray as the ship cut through the waves glued to her lips and eyelashes. Barret wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his side with a happy sigh. "Alrigh'?" he asked in a soft voice. She nodded.

"I can't wait until we get to Wutai," she said. Her father laughed.

"We only jus' set off!" he said with a grin. Marlene smiled up at him. The sky arched overhead in purest blue, without even a hint of a cloud; the ocean was choppy beneath their keel. Passengers vanished below to find their rooms and explore the rest of the ship open to them, leaving the deck mostly clear, but Marlene was content to stay here for now, just soaking up the sunlight in the comfort of her father's arms.

"What's Wutai like?" she asked. Barret made a considering noise deep in his chest that she could feel against her head.

"It's old. None of this new crap like in Edge or Junon. Wutai's got history and culture. And they're very proud people. Ya gotta be real careful not to insult someone from Wutai or they'll pick a fight with ya." Marlene thought he sounded almost admiring.

"Did you ever have to fight them?" she said with a frown. Barret's arm squeezed her shoulders.

"Heh. Once. But you can ask Yuffie 'bout that when we get there." He laughed, and Marlene couldn't help but grin at the sound. "Now c'mon. Let's go find our room before some asshole steals it from us."

It was exceedingly cramped below deck. The_Intrepid_ was actually a privately-owned cargo ship, with comparatively few rooms set aside for the number of passengers on board. Marlene was struck by an almost paralysing bout of claustrophobia, but she took a deep breath of the metallic air and looked up at her father, whose shoulders brushed the walls as he strode ahead, and felt the corridor expand outwards again. She had to hurry to catch up, passing people and signs in a continual blur.

"Here ya are!" Barret said, in front of a door no different to any of the others along the hallway. Marlene was slightly out of breath when she reached him. She peered into the cabin. A small circular window let in minimal light, illuminating two narrow cots and a tiny bedside table between them. The room was clean, though, and all they would be doing was sleeping in it. But, as Marlene sat on one of the beds and found it more like a wooden bench with thin blankets, she thought even that might not be much consolation.

"It's not much," Barret said upon catching sight of her expression, "but this is one of the best rooms on the ship. There's way worse than this two decks down." Marlene gave him an impish grin.

"You spoil me," she said with a laugh.

"Nothin's too good for my little girl. I just wish they had beds that a guy like me could sleep in. We're not all as tiny as Chocobo-head," Barret said, scowling. Marlene whipped a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles.

"Dad! You shouldn't say that about Cloud!" But her eyes were twinkling.

"What? It's true!" Barret declared, gesticulating wildly. "If I was built like a little girl then we wouldn't have a problem here, huh?" To prove the point, he collapsed onto the bed, and nearly fell off as the combined weight of his leg and metal arm worked against him. Marlene couldn't help herself; she threw herself backwards and laughed long and loud at her father's antics. Barret grinned widely as he watched her.

Eventually, with their small amount of luggage stowed in what crannies could be found in the cabin and after a rousing game of cards, they made their way to the mess hall. It was already crowded with families and crewmen alike. Clutching her father's hand, Marlene forced herself not to think about the smallness of the room, and how they were stuffed in like sardines in a can. The lurch and roll of the ship didn't help.

"Mr Wallace, sir! Over here!" A thin man in a suit waved at them from a smaller table furthest from the lunch line. Barret made his way over, half-lifting Marlene as he steered around the tightly-packed tables. "We've saved you a seat here, Mr Wallace, right next to the captain. Everyone, I'd like to introduce Barret Wallace." Marlene hid behind her father's legs in a way she hadn't since she was very small when the seated guests turned to look at them.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Wallace," the captain said as he stood and bowed. Marlene quickly slipped into a seat between her father and a woman with bushy red hair while her father was introduced to everyone. "And who is your glamorous companion?" the captain asked, once they were seated again.

"This is Marlene, my daughter," Barret said proudly. Red flooded Marlene's cheeks as the entire table eyed her curiously. Thankfully, no one wanted to spend time talking to a little girl when there were more important things to debate, and it was with some bewilderment that Marlene listened to her father discuss oil, politics, and trade, his coarse tone authoritative. She was used to the discussions AVALANCHE had had at Tifa's Seventh Heaven, when Barret was leader and the fate of the world had rested on his shoulders. But it was something completely different to hear him talk about things that didn't involve bombs, and to have other people listen to him with respect and consideration. It didn't just feel like she was on a ship at sea; it felt like she was a world away from the bar back in Edge, where Tifa worried about the price of wholesale ale and Cloud occasionally grumbled about an awkward delivery to some far-flung reach of the planet, and all she and Denzel had to talk about was school and the poor selection of cartoons shown on Edge's one and only television network.

"Alrigh', Marlene?" Barret murmured during a lull in the conversation. She nodded bashfully, looked up at him through her eyelashes. It was humid and smelly in the room, and she felt the claustrophobia creeping in on her again. A dark hand patted her gently on the head. "Don' worry. We're gonna go up on deck after dinner, okay kid?"

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

Eventually, the meal ended. Marlene raced to the door and waited there, shifting from foot to foot, until her father had made his goodbyes and joined her. Then she all but dragged him upstairs, bursting out of the door into a blast of wind. It was still daylight, as they were sailing west, but there was a chill here on the open ocean that made goosebumps break out across her arms. Letting go of her father's hand, Marlene ran to the railings to catch the full force of the wind and sea spray

"Marlene?" Barret asked quietly as he stepped up beside her.

"I'm fine," she assured him, smiling for his benefit. He turned and rested against the railings, facing away from the strong gale.

"Crowded down in that room, huh? Like being in a tin can or somethin'." He looked sideways down at her. "I'm sure glad we're up 'ere now." Marlene nodded once, still drawing calming breaths of the salty air. The sun was ahead of the ship now, swinging fat and low in the sky and tinging the frothy water with green and gold. She admired the view for a long moment, before finally turning to face her father. "Better now?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'll be okay," she answered.

"Good," he said, and clapped a hand to her shoulder. "'Cos we've got a long way to go before we reach Wutai." Marlene sighed to herself. It was a wonderful treat to sail on the _Intrepid_ with her father, but she selfishly wished that there weren't so many passengers on board so that she could enjoy the next two weeks more easily.

The thought followed her as she accompanied her father to their cabin, through several games of cards, as she brushed her teeth in the crowded, steamy bathroom shared by all the women and children on their deck, and finally to bed. Her father tucked her in tight beneath the thin blankets, and even gave her is own to ward off the chill. She was really too old for bedtime stories, but it was so rare for Barret to be there as she went to sleep that Marlene didn't mind being treated like a little kid at all.

"Now you jus' rest yerself, an' I'll see ya in the mornin'," Barret murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Marlene, snuggled under piles of blankets, was fast falling asleep despite the uncomfortable bed by the time the door closed behind him.

* * *

Her dreams were always odd, as she supposed dreams were for everybody. But that night she dreamed of strange fields of black flowers that advanced and retreated like waves on a beach. The dark sky glittered with gem-like stars, and weaving between them all were strands of brilliant green. Marlene walked through the flowers lapping at her feet, and heard them crunch like broken glass beneath her. Breathing was difficult, as if the air was too thick to move easily in her lungs, and the vapour she expired crystallised into the glimmer of materia. Hazy and indistinct, like the blur of fumes over the old Midgar Mako reactors, the horizon shifted in and out of focus as if the whole planet were responding to the pull of the tides. A shadowy figure appeared in the distance, their outline melting into airy shimmers. She wondered if this person knew where she was, why she was there, but the closer she ran, the easier it was to see that the silhouette was only herself.

* * *

It took five days for the _Intrepid_ to reach Costa del Sol. Marlene spent as much time as possible up on deck, until her skin began to harden against the abrasive sea salt and her hair was hopelessly tangled. In between the business meetings and the oddly formal dinners, she and her father had the days to themselves, and Marlene relished it. She loved playing card games with Barret, or listening to his stories, or reading to him from some of the books she'd brought. But she was glad to see the golden coast of the western continent, and the sprawling resorts hugging the shore. Barret had said the _Intrepid_ was there to pick up more passengers – the thought of which made Marlene shudder – and drop off some of the cargo. Trade between the two continents had been difficult the last few years, which Marlene knew had given Cloud a lot of business, but it was hoped that the revitalisation of the Junon docks would allow for easier transport now. Or at least, that was what her father had told her. He wasn't much involved in the business side of oil drilling, but he'd explained what he could.

"You comin' ashore with me?" Barret asked, appearing at her side.

"Uh huh!" Marlene could hardly contain her enthusiasm. Anything to get away from the crowd of passengers stuffed into the tiny areas not designated for cargo. It would be nice to stand on solid ground too, after the bout of seasickness she'd suffered on the second night. Barret laughed and hugged her once around the shoulders.

"Get yer stuff then. Might as well stay in a room made for normal-sized people if we're gonna be here overnight." Beaming, Marlene nodded and dashed off to pack her things. Costa del Sol approached fast, harbour piers thrusting prominently into the sea, and she wanted to be the first person off the ship if she could.

The crewmen were already calling out greetings and orders to the dockhands by the time she joined her father and the other passengers against the starboard railings. Gawking locals and camera-toting tourists swarmed the quay to see the _Intrepid_. They coasted into port with nary a hitch, and before Marlene knew it the anchor had dropped, the ropes were tied off, and the passengers herded towards the gangplank. Barret kept hold of her hand as they stepped ashore, allowing Marlene to stare around in wonder without having to worry about getting lost.

Swinging cranes and sailors with bulging muscles were already busy hauling cargo off the _Intrepid_. The smoke from the chimney sank down to the streets without the strong breeze of the open ocean to brush it away, lending everything a smoggy grey tint. Marlene had seen pictures of Costa del Sol in travel magazines in Edge, of glorious beaches and an inviting sea. But these docks reminded Marlene strongly of Port Junon, only with every smell and colour baked into the stones by the same holiday sun that attracted so many tourists. The sea salt, the fishy stench, even the oil and rust from the docked boats was superheated to a hazy film that clogged her throat.

"Mr Wallace! Mr Wallace!" a weedy voice called from behind. Marlene craned her head to look, but Barret tugged her quickly across the street and around a corner.

"Can't stand them suck-ups any longer," he groused. Bemused, Marlene could only try to match his long strides through endless winding back alleys. Before long, they had passed through the commercial district of Costa del Sol and were rapidly heading towards the outer skirts of the tourist area. They walked for what seemed like ages, until Marlene's legs shook after so long cooped up on the ship. She was going to ask for a break when her father stopped outside a modest little inn. "This'll do," he said shortly, and they entered.

What Marlene noticed first were the fans circulating wafts of cool air that tickled the back of her sweaty neck. She was used to the humid warmth of Edge summertime, not oceanic stickiness under the pounding sun like here in Costa del Sol. She licked the salt from her upper lip and tried to ignore the drops of sweat trickling down the back of her dress.

"Go grab a seat," Barret instructed. Marlene was only too happy to oblige, trudging to the nearest armchair and plonking her holdall on the floor. The bell pinged once under her father's heavy hand. Marlene tried to relax in the chair, but her arms and legs kept sticking to the leather, and she could feel the throb of her heartbeat in her face now that she was out of the sun. Additionally, there was a funny smell to the room, like herbs or incense, that made her want to sneeze. Altogether she was feeling rather cross, though she tried not to let it show in her expression. Her father had gone out of his way to bring her on this trip, and she wouldn't let a little discomfort ruin that. Still, she hoped their room for the night would have soft pillows and a powerful fan.

The woman that came through the hanging beads over the door frame behind the desk was short and wrinkly, with curly grey hair and glasses that magnified her myopic eyes. Marlene could see her father tapping his fingers against his gun arm as the owner wrote them into her ledger with painstaking care, searched intensely through the keys nailed to the wall behind her, and finally shuffled around the desk to lead them down an ill-lit corridor to their room.

"Enjoy your stay," the woman rasped in a hoarse voice, and closed the door. Tossing her bag down, Marlene threw herself on the bed under the window and was ecstatic to find that it bounced. And there were pillows! And even a mint sweet, which she quickly unwrapped to eat. The incense smell permeated even this room – clinging especially to the sheets – but when her father turned on the large fan positioned in the far corner, Marlene decided she really didn't care. This was good enough.

"Happy now?" Barret asked, amused. She grinned at him. "And look!" he added. He laid with deliberate dramatics on the second bed, stretching his arms and legs for extra effect. "The beds fit normal people!" He winked.

"Daaaaad!" Marlene giggled.

"Alrigh', alrigh'. Don't pick on Mr Spiky Head. Gotcha." He stretched and sat up, muffling a yawn with his good hand. "You hungry kid?"

"Starving," Marlene said. She hurried to the door, waited impatiently for her father to get up off the bed, and linked arms with him as they left the inn.


	2. Patches

Chapter Two: Patches

It was a six day drive from Junon to Edge in the average car, though with Cloud behind the wheel that could be more than halved. Even with all the work the WRO had done it still wasn't safe in the mountains between the two cities, so when Cloud stopped for gas at the last available station and pushed on through the night, Tifa didn't say anything. An odd silence permeated the pick-up; glancing in the wing mirror, she could see Denzel slouched in his seat, staring pensively out the window.

The sky was a deep blue with stars like pinpricks of pale light, against which the headlights had almost no effect. Cloud didn't seem to mind, however; she could see his eyes scanning the landscape methodically, the blue glow lending an odd gleam to the interior of the cab. They'd lost the radio signal from Junon after the first foothills, had eaten the last snacks not long after that, and now there was really nothing to do but sleep.

But, like Denzel behind her, Tifa found that she couldn't just nod off, rocked by the shaky suspension. Her thoughts hovered somewhere between the chill of the mountain night and the last blare of a rapidly shrinking cargo ship. She hoped Marlene fared better at ocean travel than Yuffie did. It was so strange to think that they were heading back to Edge – back home – without the fourth member of their patchwork family. The seat behind Cloud was too quiet; she could sense it even with her back turned. She half-wished Cloud would slow down so she wouldn't have to face the empty bar, childish pictures stuck to the fridge with tape and a girly pink hairbrush perpetually on the work surface because Marlene just _wouldn't put it_ ...

The brush had been packed in her carry-on holdall, as had her hair ties, her toothbrush, her favourite doll... It didn't matter how many times Tifa told herself that this was only temporary, a vacation for Marlene to spend with Barret before the school year started again, she couldn't help but miss her already.

"Cloud," Denzel murmured. Cloud cocked his head, the only outward sign of acknowledgment. "How long does it take to get to Wutai?" Tifa smiled slightly to herself; Denzel had asked the question about ten times during the week, and would probably ask Cloud ten times again.

"About twenty-one days, depending on the weather," he answered evenly, without even a hint that the repetition was noted.

"Do they have good phone reception there?"

"Yes."

"Do they speak the same as us?"

"Most people do."

"Is there a lot of crime?"

"No more than in Edge."

"Is –"

"Denzel," Tifa interjected gently, "we've still got a long way to go. Why don't you try to get some sleep, hm?"

"Fine," he huffed. She shared a small look with Cloud as Denzel could be heard wriggling around behind them until he was suitably comfortable. "G'night," he muttered.

"'Night," Tifa replied. She listened to his breathing deepen, knowing Cloud was doing the same, until they were both sure he was asleep mere minutes later. It had been a long drive from Edge, and a tiring day to cap it off; Denzel was obviously exhausted.

Tifa heaved a sigh and slouched deeper into her seat. Without saying a word, or even glancing away from the darkened scenery, Cloud reached across to hold her hand in his. Tifa smiled at him and squeezed back. She'd spent so much of the last few years trying to get Cloud to open up and talk to her that it surprised her when sometimes – in a borrowed truck driving through the mountains during the middle of the night – they didn't need words to communicate.

He had to retract his arm in order to steer the car around some hairpin turns on the steep slope into the next valley. Somewhere down there under the moon was their half-way point. Maybe the Turks would be there this time. It would be nice to see familiar faces again.

"How long until we reach Healin?" she asked softly. Cloud raised one shoulder in a shrug.

"Another six hours, at least," he said. She could hear the tiredness bleed a little into his voice, now that Denzel wasn't listening in.

"You want me to drive when the sun comes up?" Tifa asked. She knew that even her martial arts reflexes would not fair against sheer cliffs and blind corners in the pitch of night.

"I'll be fine," Cloud answered, causing her to roll her eyes. She would hate his stubbornness, if it wasn't also something she loved about him. "You should rest," he said, "if you're going to drive later." He shot her a look.

"Fine," Tifa said in a fair approximation of Denzel's tone. Cloud stretched his arm along the back of the benchseat, an open invitation for Tifa to curl up next to him if ever there was one. Nestled against his side with her head on his shoulder, she found she was tired enough to ignore the slight ripeness to his scent after five days on the road. His extraordinary body heat warded off the chill better than a blanket, and it wasn't long before she was drooling on his shoulder, unaware of Cloud's slightly rueful smile.

* * *

She wasn't asleep long, by her reckoning, but the sun was just stretching pink fingers over the horizon when she next opened her eyes. She'd somehow managed to manoeuvre herself during the night so that her head was resting on Cloud's thigh, her legs pressed awkwardly against the door. There was a painful crick in her neck, but it was worth it when she realised Cloud's fingers were playing with her hair. Peeking carefully up at his face, she thought he probably didn't even realise what he was doing, and couldn't help but grin. Awake as she was, however, she couldn't stand the painful position and had to sit up. Her spine cracked when she stretched with a yawn.

"Morning," Denzel grumped from behind.

"Good morning," she replied, turning in her seat. There were shadows under his eyes, and his hair somewhat resembled Cloud's unruly spikes. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long," was the short answer. At fourteen, Denzel was well into that stage when boys and mornings go together like oil and water. Suppressing a weary smile, Tifa decided to give Denzel time to wake up and acquire a better mood, though she had her doubts that he would ever find it now that Marlene was gone for the summer.

"How much further to Healin?" she asked Cloud. If it wasn't for the pale light of dawn, high up in the second range of mountains between them and their destination, it could have easily been an echo of the night before.

They'd spent too long on the road, in her honest opinion.

"About an hour," Cloud said. He arched his spine, discreetly so that Denzel wouldn't see; Tifa felt knotted up herself, without having spent the last five-and-a-bit days behind the wheel. She knew Cloud had driven for much longer periods without rest, without someone to swap with, but it still couldn't be anywhere near comfortable or easy for the body.

"Can we get out for a stretch?" she asked. Cloud blinked slowly, as if in deep consideration.

"Sure," he said. Tifa put her hand on the door handle, but they kept moving.

"Cloud," Tifa said.

"Hmm?"

"That means you have to stop the car." She shot a dry look at his bemused expression, but was secretly pleased that he was up to joking despite his tiredness, especially when Denzel smothered a laugh in the backseat.

"I guess," Cloud said doubtfully, and pulled the pick-up to a halt. His face was completely deadpan. Tifa stretched her fingers towards the sky as soon as she was out of the vehicle, and took a huge gulping breath of the fresh mountain air. The chill brought goosebumps to her skin, but it felt so good to be free of the confines of the car she didn't really mind.

"Here Tifa," Denzel said from the other side of open door, holding out a bottle of water. Tifa took it with a smile of thanks. It was almost icy, after being in the open back of the pick-up all night, and she had to suck the cold from her teeth afterwards. Denzel snorted at her pinched expression.

"We shouldn't stay here long," Cloud said suddenly. He was stood by the back of the pick-up, body alert but not tense. Tifa took comfort in the fact that the Ultima Weapon was still resting under a tarp in the truck.

"Cloud?" Denzel asked uncertainly. Tifa reached for her fighting gloves just in case, as the strange stillness heightened her battle senses.

"It's fine for now," Cloud reassured them both, "but these are nesting grounds. So just ... do what you gotta do, and we'll get going." With a warning like that, Tifa was quick to shoo Denzel towards a tree that would serve as a urinal, and made for a small thicket herself, toilet roll clutched self-consciously in one hand. There was nothing like traveling on the open road, she thought with a wry twist to her lips.

The air was thick with the distinctive tang of gasoline by the time she returned. Cloud tossed an empty barrel into the back of the truck with a clang, throwing the plastic tubing in carelessly afterwards. Denzel ambled over from the tree with his hands in his pocket and a smirk on his face that he couldn't hide. Tifa met Cloud's eyes over the car and they shared an amused smile.

"All set, Denzel?" she asked.

"Yup," he said, and slid into his seat. She climbed into the front passenger space, slamming the door at the same time as Cloud. The engine ticked over reluctantly before grumbling to life. Cloud wound down his window, and the wind blew in to ruffle the stubborn spikes of his hair. Tifa watched him out of the corner of her eye as they drove off: one hand on the wheel, the other dangling outside the door, eyes alert as they resumed their dedicated observation of the land. Even though Denzel was glum again in the backseat, and Marlene was half an ocean away, these things couldn't stop the bashful, girlish smile that appeared on her lips when Cloud caught her staring. He looked away just as quickly as she did, but when she glanced back, she thought she saw a slight flush to his cheeks, and that made her grin all the more.

In the split second it took for her battle senses to sing to life, faster than any civilian and most soldiers could hope for, Cloud had grabbed her around the waist with one arm and pulled her flush against his side as her window imploded. Sharp talons scrabbled to grip the door, uncaring of the large shards of glass still protruding upwards like stalagmites.

"Tifa!" Cloud shook her slightly whilst veering the truck violently to the right to shake off their attacker.

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" Tifa gasped. Her heart was racing in her chest, but the adrenaline that gushed through her veins was more than enough to blink away the shock, sharpening her senses in a rush of familiarity.

"You drive," Cloud ordered shortly, and ducked out through his open window. The engine screamed when she slammed the gas back on, wrenching the wheel sharply to the left to avoid a tree.

"Cloud!" Denzel cried, scrabbling for the window.

"Stay down!" Tifa barked in a tone of voice she doubted Denzel had ever heard her use before. She swerved the car again in the hope of throwing off the monster's next attack, checking very briefly in the rearview mirror. Cloud was nowhere to be seen, and for a second Tifa's heart threatened to choke her, before he clambered into view and shot a dirty look into the car. Then he was out of sight again, heavy boots clumping on the roof, and it was all Tifa could do to grip the wheel tight and hope there were no hairpin turns coming up. At the speed they were going, it would be a very long flight off the edge of the mountain.

The hairs on Tifa's arms suddenly stood on end, an electrical tingle dancing along her nerves as Cloud charged a spell that crackled through air. She heard it blast into the screaming monster, tasted sizzling flesh on the back of her tongue. She barely flinched when the roof dented over her head as Cloud launched. It wasn't hard to imagine him soaring through the air, Ultima Weapon wielded in both hands, slicing into the stunned creature. Sure enough, there came a high-pitched roar of pain, and the suspension bounced under Cloud's landing in the back of the truck. Tifa smiled at his reflection.

"Look out!" Denzel cried. Only her sharpened reflexes kept Tifa from plowing straight into the misshapen beast waiting in their path. The tires flung dust and grit in all directions as the car swerved, and Tifa could only spare a quick silent apology for Cloud as she heard him tumble in the back. She had to fight to keep the car moving, crunching the clutch and pressing viciously on the gas pedal. The truck wasn't built for this kind of movement; it shuddered and lurched into forward motion just as the monster began its charge on their position.

"Go left!" Cloud yelled. Tifa spun the wheel, flinging Denzel halfway across the backseat. The beast roared – and was echoed by a second. Her stomach plummeted. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed Cloud as he leapt out of the truck. The back tires skidded from the motion.

"Cloud!" Denzel's face was pressed to the glass window, watching as Cloud tore across the open ground between himself and the approaching monsters. Narrowing her eyes, Tifa swerved the pick-up until it was almost flush against a sheer cliff face and slammed the breaks. She turned to face Denzel.

"Stay here," she said, and was out the door before he could argue.

The two flying monsters had teamed up to defeat Cloud. Whilst one attacked with dizzying speed from the ground, the other flew overhead, using the distance to shoot spells at their enemy. The Ultima Weapon was barely a blur as it attacked and defended. Tifa knew she wouldn't reach the fight in time to make much of a difference, as clearly Cloud had the upper hand, but the adrenaline singing in her veins called for blood. Leaping into the air, she pulled her fist back and caught the flying monster in an attack it never saw coming. The shock of the punch reverberated up her arm, but she shook it off and landed with feline grace. Her enemy tumbled out of the air, shrieking as Cloud's sword skewered it straight through the middle. Its massive wings twitched once before falling still. Cloud slid it off the Ultima Weapon next to its companion, two gory heaps on the mountainside.

"Are you okay?" he asked, taking a step towards her. Tifa smiled and shook her hair from her eyes.

"Didn't even break a sweat," she said. He nodded, already heading back to the pick-up. Denzel's shaggy hair disappeared from the window, and Tifa suppressed a sigh; he would probably be moody that he hadn't been able to do anything, as if anyone would expect a fourteen-year-old boy to take part in a fight against two bloodthirsty monsters. She guessed all boys were like that, and shot a wry look at Cloud's retreating figure.

Rolling her shoulders to shake off the last of the fight, Tifa reached the truck just as Cloud finished wiping monster blood from his sword and stowed it back under the tarp. As predicted, Denzel was slouched in his seat with arms crossed and a petulant expression on his face. Tifa busied herself sweeping the broken glass out as best she could, placing a folded blanket where she would sit to cover any small bits she had missed. The engine turned over at the second attempt after Cloud's withering glare, and they were back on the poor excuse for a road as if nothing had happened.

They picked up cell reception half an hour from Healin; Tifa had a few messages about the bar, including one from the jerk who had bought out her supplier of ale and hiked the cost three times in the last month. She would have to start looking for another supplier when she got back. There were few other vehicles parked outside the large white lodge, and their's was definitely the worst off.

"How long are we staying for?" Tifa asked when Cloud switched the engine off. Denzel yawned widely behind them, sliding out of the car to grab his stuff from the rear.

"I've got a delivery to Kalm when I get back," Cloud said as he flipped his phone shut. Tifa translated that to mean they needed to get back on the road soon. She would be driving the next leg, at least until the sun set on these treacherous mountain trails.

"Alright. We can probably just sleep in the lobby, then." There were couches that were comfy enough, and Healin was exceedingly quiet even at its busiest. Mostly Tifa just wanted to be horizontal for a few hours without being jolted by potholes.

Denzel led the way inside. It was kind of stuffy after breathing the brisk mountain air for the last couple of days. However, as soon as Tifa spotted the two couches arranged in an adjacent room, she decided she really didn't care. Cloud and Denzel made their way over, leaving her to deal with the receptionist. The gentleman was surprisingly understanding of their situation, refusing to take the payment Tifa offered. She was too tired to argue, and quickly followed the other two into the adjoining room.

Sprawled across the couch he had obviously claimed for himself, Denzel was already fast asleep. Tifa gently removed his shoes and covered him with the blanket Cloud passed her. She flopped into the loveseat next to him, stretching her aching legs after being cooped up in the truck for so long. As he had in the car, Cloud left his arm on the back of the couch, an invitation to curl up if she wanted. Sometimes she loved him so much her heart hurt with it.

"I told the guy at the front we'd only stay a few hours," she murmured when she was settled with her head on his chest, not quite horizontal but close enough to count. "He let us stay for free." Cloud made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Tifa sighed, rubbed her face deeper into his sweater. They really needed to shower. "I'll drive next."

"Go to sleep," Cloud soothed. And like that, she did.

* * *

Waking up was a painful process. The room was too bright, for one, with the sun shining directly into her face. Her thoughts slipped around her head without rhyme or reason. She felt like she could nap for a good few more hours. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Tifa spotted Denzel still snoring on the other couch, but no Cloud. She tugged up Denzel's blanket before she left the room. Cloud was easily found, however, taping cardboard to the smashed window of their truck. Now that she was more awake, she could appreciate how much damage the flying monsters had done; there were long scratches in the paint, and the passenger door had been dented inwards. She hoped Barret wouldn't mind that his truck would be newly repaired by the time he got back.

"Time to go?" Tifa called, wary of the pervasive stillness that always surrounded Healin. Cloud nodded once, and Tifa left him to it while she went to wake Denzel. The teen was, predictably, not happy to have his sleep disturbed, and stumbled to the pick-up with his blanket still wrapped around him. He settled into the back with a few mumbled comments Tifa chose not to call him on, and was asleep again by the time she started the engine.

The road down into the next valley was not nearly as steep or as dangerous as the one Cloud had navigated the night before, and the sun was only just skimming the horizon by the time Tifa began the ascent of the the final mountains marching between them and home. Cloud had dozed off not long after Denzel, and the implicit trust in that made her feel warm inside. She couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself, but Cloud made her feel like a little girl with her first crush even now. Barret would have laughed at her. Hell, even Yuffie would have taken a potshot.

Arching her back, Tifa wriggled in her seat, feeling a rush of blood to her cold feet.

"Want to swap?" She flinched at the unexpected voice, whipping her head towards Cloud. He was watching her with half-lidded eyes, smirking a little at her surprise. Laughing, Tifa swatted his leg before she turned back to the road.

"Not yet," she replied evenly.

"How much longer?" Denzel croaked suddenly from behind. Tifa could barely see the top of his head in the rearview mirror, and the rest of him was buried under blankets.

"It's not far," she reassured him.

"But how long?" he pressed.

"Another eight hours or so," said Cloud.

"Only when you drive," Tifa said teasingly. He narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't rise to the bait.

"That's ages," Denzel huffed. Cloud hummed noncommittally.

"This would have been much easier in the _Shera_," Tifa mused, knowing that any talk about their distant friends would distract Denzel from pretty much anything. He sat up, face keen with interest.

"You mean Cid's airship?" Tifa hid her smile.

"I do."


	3. Accelerant

Chapter Three: Accelerant

The battered pick-up truck disappeared over the lip of the next hill, and left no trace of its brief stop at Healin Lodge but a few stray shards of glass glittering in the pale mountain sunlight. Rufus watched from behind the safe anonymity of his one-way window until it was out of sight. He was not sick anymore – hadn't been for nearly four years – but he remained at Healin anyway, had come to treasure its peaceful atmosphere. Despite the attention demanded by the threads he had weaved throughout the world after Meteor – and he was pleased to admit there were many such strings attached to him – he enjoyed the less stressful pace of life here. Before Meteor, before Sephiroth, his life in Junon working for his father had been ... somewhat hectic. Only the most ruthless, cunning, industrious people survived in the fast-paced ShinRa world, and Rufus had embraced all three traits to his very core. It was nice, however, to be able to sleep at night without medication to ease the way.

He turned from his contemplation of the idyllic scenery, casting a critical eye over his office's dim interior. Life could be lived more slowly at Healin, yes, but that didn't mean he would allow himself to slack off from work. There was still much that could only be achieved through his efforts alone. He had the money and he had the manpower, but more than that, he had the status of a dead man. Nobody blinked twice at a rich person financing the WRO or lending to the proud new owners of the _Intrepid_, but a name like Rufus ShinRa ... That was noticed. The Turks had worked hard to bury his name deep, though, and his non-identity – the anonymity of existence outside of everyday life – was refreshingly liberating.

Quietly, he lowered himself into his easy chair and glanced over the spread of manila folders littering his desk. His various projects – altruistic or otherwise – were in constant need of supervision. It just wasn't in his nature to remain out of touch even when he was out of sight and mind. With only four Turks under his employ, it was difficult to keep track of new developments, but they had been hired as the best people available to ShinRa, and Rufus had yet to be disappointed.

"This would all be a lot easier if we just moved back to Junon," Reno said by way of greeting, strolling through the door with his nightstick over one shoulder and Rude looming over the other.

"When did I ever imply that I wanted to make your life easy?" Rufus countered without missing a beat. He sat perfectly composed, like a Sultan on his throne, as the two Turks halted in front of his desk.

"The thanks we get," Reno sighed dramatically. Suppressing a smirk, Rufus pulled one folder towards him and opened it.

"What have you got?" he asked without preamble.

"No more than the usual," answered Reno. "A few detachments on patrol in the mountains. Reeve's keeping most of his forces around the cities. Highwind's fleet is still military only. They use it to deploy troops for monster attacks in the backwoods."

"What about their scientific endeavours?"

"Not much. Without the one-eyed chick, Reeve doesn't seem to care. They've spent some on figuring out the Deepground tech, but apart from that ..." Reno trailed off with a shrug. Nodding, Rufus made very brief notes in the margins of his report. His funding of the WRO was not unconditional, and in order to continue the charitable donations, it had been made abundantly clear to Reeve that he should ignore passing observers should he ever hear of them. Thankfully, however, even if Reno was less than subtle, his shadow more than made up for it.

"Is there anything else?" Rufus asked. He looked up when Reno shifted oddly from foot to foot. He and Rude shared a quick glance, though the latter's sunglasses made it difficult to judge his thoughts. "Tell me," ordered Rufus.

"We heard some rumours," Reno said reluctantly.

"Rumours?"

Reno scratched at his scalp with the tip of his nightstick. "Yeah."

"Such as?"

"Sir, there are rumours that you're still alive," Rude said. Reno ceased his fidgeting, watching Rufus through his eyelashes. The President made no movement in reaction to the news.

"Indeed? Interesting. Is that all?" he purred. Reno nodded, eyes widened subtly. They were dismissed with a wave of Rufus' hand, and the door clicked shut behind them.

Alone with his thoughts, Rufus moved back to the window, contemplating the gushing waterfalls as they dropped hundreds of feet to the river below. It was undesirable but not entirely unexpected that his name had come under discussion once more. After all, there had been no one on the planet with nearly as much money as the ShinRa Electric Power Company, and even after his fall from grace – and the ensuing financial crisis that had crippled the planet's economy and bankrupted more than a few – he was still possibly the only person in the world who could be called 'rich'. Even if none actually believed he was still alive, the question was bound to arise: what happened to the ShinRa fortune?

Rufus shook his head idly to himself. They were just rumours, after all. With no definitive proof one way or the other, it was impossible for anyone to move against him. Similarly, there was no reason for him to move against any perceived threat just yet. Until an action was taken that defined the situation more clearly, he would spare the Turks a difficult and messy clean-up operation.

Thus decided, Rufus moved to the intercom at his desk, depressing the button. It buzzed when the line was connected. "Bring me a coffee," he ordered. Contemplating the open folder once more, he sat back down. The coffee was delivered by a pale waif of a girl, some former sufferer of Geostigma with no home to which she could return. She placed it quietly on the desk and vanished again without once meeting his eyes. The staff at Healin Lodge were all wary of him, suspicious of his identity but either intelligent or passive enough not to inquire too deeply. The presence of the Turks was also an added deterrent Rufus was not above exploiting. He was pleased with the care he had received four years previously, and made sure not to offend anyone at the Lodge if he could avoid it. Not at his own risk, however.

But suppose someone were to leak that he had indeed survived WEAPON's attack? He mused on the implications of that scenario for a moment as he lifted the steaming cup of black coffee to his lips. It would, of course, depend on the circumstances. If, in his hypothetical scenario, it was revealed accidentally by the few former members of AVALANCHE that knew of him ... There was little he could do about it, he decided regretfully. It was doubtful his uncovering would be malicious, so any form of retribution would be unjustified and likely avenged swiftly. If it was by the WRO, then Rufus could easily manipulate it to his own benefit, with minimal resistance from Reeve. But if his identity were revealed by an enemy ... Well, that would be an interesting day.

His cellphone vibrated, rattling rhythmically across his desk. Rufus took the time to swallow a mouthful of scorching coffee before checking Caller ID. "Yes?" he answered.

"Tseng reporting, sir," came the tinny voice.

"Your location?"

"Just leaving Mideel. We've managed to secure passage on board one of the Chocobo ferries. Our ETA in Edge is about eight days, less if Reno comes with the helicopter." The reception was pretty awful in Mideel; the static on the line made Tseng extremely difficult to understand.

"What news is there?" Rufus asked.

"Very little. Wright has been easy enough to keep track of, but the other two are slippery. We've managed to trace Anson as far as Fort Condor, though there's been nothing conclusive about any of his activities. Oyami has been exceedingly cautious in covering her movements. Elena and I have been unable to follow her off the island." Rufus tapped his fingers lightly against the manila folder that dealt with this particular mission, still closed on the desktop. His rapidly cooling coffee was left, forgotten.

"What are Wright's plans? Is the move underway?" he asked. Tseng sighed slightly on the other end, a sure sign to Rufus that he was frustrated.

"As far as we can tell, arguments for other locations were soundly defeated, so the removal to Edge will continue as planned now that the new church has been completed. As to their intentions there ... It depends on who you ask." Silence spread between the two men, one digesting the information while the other waited for orders. Rufus flipped open the folder, staring down into the photographed face of Warren Wright. Brown hair heightening his pale complexion, the man gazed out over a crowd of people, mouth open in the act of speaking, arms spread wide, his grey eyes alight with something like passion.

"Stay with Wright," Rufus said at last. "Whatever else Anson or Oyami are planning, they will have to return to him to retain their positions. Keep me apprised of any changes in attitude or behaviour."

"Roger. Tseng out." The line clicked dead. Placing the phone back on his desk, Rufus frowned at his cool cup of coffee. The growth of the Church of Minerva's Light had been unexpected, to say the least, and its popularity amongst a public that had happily abandoned all thought of religion under ShinRa was surprising. Ordinarily, Rufus would have paid it only passing attention, merely as part of his ongoing observation of everyday life, but something about the whole association just rang false. Years in the cutthroat ShinRa world taught a man to trust his instincts, and Rufus was not about to let a problem develop under his very nose.

Sighing quietly to himself, Rufus pressed the intercom button again, waited for the click on the other end. "Send Reno and Rude to me." At least one person out of them would be pleased at the information Tseng had delivered.

"You called us, sir?" Reno asked as he entered, looking somewhat tired. He had a can of soda in his hand, the only sign that the two had been off-duty. As much as Turks could be off-duty, at any rate.

"I have good news for you, Reno," Rufus said. The other man immediately perked up. "We shall be relocating to Edge for the indefinite future." A surprised look graced Reno's face.

"Really? No joking! My soul wouldn't take it." He clutched both hands to his chest.

Rufus allowed himself a smirk. "We leave immediately," he said, standing and pocketing his phone. "Strip everything. Not a trace left."

"Yes sir!" Rude and Reno chorused. Rufus left the room to the start of their mild, mostly one-sided, bickering. It crossed his mind briefly that they needn't remove from Healin, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it formed. Feelings of attachment could not stop him from doing what he had to do; anyone who was so ruled by their emotions was weak. Besides, Rufus always functioned best when in the thick of things, and if his hunch was right – and he had no reason to believe otherwise – then events were about to get interesting in Edge.

His phone buzzed against his leg, and he was very surprised to see Tseng's ID on the screen again. "Yes?" he answered.

"Sir, Tseng reporting. Elena has uncovered something alarming. Oyami has a hired mercenary stationed in either Kalm or Edge, almost certainly without the knowledge or approval of Anson or Wright." Rufus drew to a halt in the middle of the hallway.

"An assassin?" he asked sharply.

"Unknown, sir. Possibly someone from Wutai, though it's unlikely whoever it is belongs to her former clan. Sir," here Tseng lowered his voice, so that Rufus had to strain to hear over the static, "there's no one of any importance in Kalm." Rufus knew that. Nearly all the major players in planet's history were nomadic to a greater or lesser extent, but their homebase was almost unanimously in Edge. But to hire a mercenary for a permanent station there ... Rufus could think of only one household that would demand that kind of special attention.

"Keep me posted," Rufus said, and ended the call. In his list of contacts he found the name he needed, but something gave him pause before he dialed. An issue such as this really deserved a personal delivery, to avoid misunderstandings and serve as an act of trust. He himself couldn't give the message, secretive as his new life was. Flipping his phone shut, Rufus doubled back to his office. Reno and Rude had made startling progress in clearing everything out; his folders were neatly piled on the desk whilst they wiped his fingerprints from every surface.

"Sir?" Reno questioned, looking up.

"I've got a new mission for you," Rufus said without preamble. Rude stood from his perusal of the cabinet drawers. "Just Reno," Rufus addressed him; he thought he saw a muscle twitch in Rude's jaw.

"I'm all ears," Reno said, pulling off his gloves as he moved towards the President in the doorway.

"I need you first to take the chopper to pick up Tseng and Elena in Fort Condor."

"Taxi duty again," Reno sighed mournfully, but sobered at Rufus' sharp look.

"Tseng will fill you in on the details, but after you've collected them you're to fly directly to Edge with a message. Land in Midgar if you can, but you are to remain undetected at all costs." Nodding, Reno headed to the desk where his nightstick lay.

"Gotcha. Who's the message for?" he asked nonchalantly.

Rufus smirked."Cloud Strife."

Reno's look of abject horror was priceless. "No way! You can't be serious. That's so unfair. Why me?" he whined.

"Be a man," Rude muttered, earning a vicious glare from his partner.

"You're meant to be on my side!" Reno complained. Rude shook his head and went back to his job. Pouting, Reno grabbed his nightstick and sauntered out of the room, red ponytail bouncing behind him. Rufus heard Rude sigh darkly, and left him to his sour mood. He needed to inform the Healin staff of his impending departure, and make appropriate recompense for his extended stay. One couldn't reward kindness with unkindness in this world and expect anything more in the future, he'd learnt.


	4. Splatter Arc

Chapter Four: Splatter Arc

It was with some exasperation that Barret returned to the cabin after yet another long evening talking to the most prominent passengers on board to find Marlene was not in her bed. Since leaving Costa del Sol two days ago, it had become a regular occurrence for his daughter to slip out when he was away, and now he knew immediately where to find her.

The icy blast of wind against his face sent a shiver tingling down his spine. He spied Marlene leaning against the rails with a blanket around her shoulders. He didn't say anything as he approached; instead, he wrapped the blanket he'd brought over the other one. It was terrifically cold this far north, with gales streaming down from the ice fields between the coast and Icicle Inn.

"I'm fine," Marlene murmured, though she didn't shrug off the extra blanket. Their breaths fogged in the air to be whisked away by the wind.

"It's me job to worry," Barret grumped, earning a soft smile from his daughter. Shoulder to shoulder they stood in silence, watching the coastline of the northern continent scud past. It was a forlorn landscape, barren shadows in the dead of night. Even the waxing moon only highlighted the deep crevasses and craggy hills of the fjords.

"How was your ... thing?" Marlene asked. 'Thing' being not quite a meeting, not quite a meal, and not quite a debate, but a strange medley of the three.

"Fine." Barret didn't really understand how he of all people had ended up in a position where he could talk about the price of oil in a global economy and not be laughed at. When he'd first started out, encouraging investors to see the potential of oil drilling enough to send him on survey missions, his accent and manners had deterred most. What could a coal miner from Corel know about money? A little help from Reeve and his own bloody-minded persistence had seen to the end of that attitude, but it still amazed Barret. Cloud, ex-SOLDIER and victor over Sephiroth, ran a delivery service. Barret?

He ran half of the world economy.

"Are you cold?" Marlene asked, looking up at him in concern.

"A bit, yeah." Silently she unwrapped herself from the blankets, tossing one over Barret's shoulders and using the other to build a cocoon between them and the chill. Barret held her close, struck again at the treasure in his arms. He wasn't one to think of philosophical things – leave that to Vincent, thank you very much – but every now and then he realised that no matter how crazy or unbelievable his life became, nothing could match Marlene. She was every good thing in his life. The thought of her, of making a better world for her to grow up in, was what had spurred him on through the rejections and the scorn, even the pain of having to leave her behind in Edge.

"I love you dad," Marlene sighed.

"I love you too, baby," Barret replied, and dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. It was a terrible thing that Dyne had had to die for Barret to feel this kind of happiness, but he hoped his friend was at one with the planet now, and approved of the job Barret was doing in raising his daughter.

Marlene yawned, grinning bashfully up at him. Her cheeks were flushed pink with the cold. "Time for bed," Barret ordered.

"Ohh, but daaad! Five more minutes? Pleeeease?" Marlene shot him a look of masterful begging that only young girls could achieve. He didn't stand a chance against it.

"Fine. Five minutes. That's it," he conceded, knowing his daughter had played him like the sucker he was. She was a cunning one, that was for sure. Darkly, Barret thought it was entirely to do with Cloud's influence in her life.

They remained as they were for a few minutes, Barret's arms dwarfing his baby girl, sheltering her from the worst of the cold. Though he was used to staying awake at inhuman hours, Barret found the wind numbed his mind and made him sleepy. He yawned.

"Look! A shooting star!" Marlene exclaimed suddenly, pointing with a hand she worked free of the blankets. Barret looked, but though the vast night sky was littered with millions of specks of light, he had missed the one Marlene had found.

"Did ya make a wish?" he asked. Marlene nodded.

"I can't tell you what it was though. Then it might not come true!" She giggled.

"C'mon Marlene. Let's hit the sack." Barret led them back to their cabin. He felt both clumsy and silly helping Marlene with her hair, but he couldn't say no when she asked him, and she smiled in reassurance when he attempted to get a brush through it.

"G'night, baby," he murmured once they were both comfy in their beds.

"Night. I love you."

"Love ya too."

But despite how tired he felt, and how easy his heart rested in his chest, Barret found he couldn't sleep. There was a prickling under his skin like pins and needles, and his fingers kept straying to stroke the metal of his gunhand. He could feel the acid in his gut, and blood thumping greedily through his veins. Over the din of the engines he could hear Marlene's shallow breathing, not deep as it was when she slept, but for some reason Barret couldn't bring himself to call her on it. So they lay in the dark, listening to the ocean and each other, but unable to speak. It was one of the strangest nights in Barret's life.

About an hour before dawn he gave up, climbing out of bed and making for the door with his blanket slung over one arm. A glance backwards showed Marlene in the last light of the setting moon, eyes glassy as she stared unseeing at the wall. Barret frowned, but didn't disturb the strange stillness. As he made his way on deck, he hoped that she would get some sleep before the sun rose.

Barret found a spot to sit on the decking with his back against a wall, wrapping the blanket around his body so that no breeze could chill his skin. His breath fogged in the cold air. The strange feeling brewing in his taught muscles didn't abate, though he tried regulating his breathing as a form of meditation like Vincent had taught him. Stupid goddamned Turk didn't realise some people just weren't built to meditate, he thought bitterly.

He sighed. When he looked, the stars still sparkled brightly in the sky, though there was a red glow along the eastern horizon. He could sort of appreciate why Marlene liked it so much up here at night, without people crowding around and spoiling it all. At that moment, he spotted a shooting star streaking across the sky, leaving a contrail thicker than any he had ever seen. He blinked twice, but strangely the afterimage didn't dissipate. At least he would be able to tell Marlene that he had seen one too. But as he watched the bizarre star, he noticed the angle was wrong. And it was getting bigger. Within seconds, the realisation came that it wasn't a star at all. Barret scrambled to his feet and raced for the bridge, technically off-limits but goddamnit, there was something heading straight for them!

It hit before he could do much more than throw the door to the bridge open. The whole ship shuddered, metal shrieking as it was torn apart. Barret gripped the stair's banister to stop from being tossed down to the deck below as they swayed and lurched in the water. The last rumbles had barely time to fade before hundreds of feet could be heard stumbling below. The captain burst through the main doorway, pushing past Barret and onto the bridge.

"Report!" he barked. Barret followed him into the room where one man steered the wheel and two others manned various equipment for obtaining readings. It reminded Barret strongly of the _Highwind_.

"An attack, sir!" said the crewman at the wheel.

"Goddamnit!" The Captain spat in disgust. Barret, standing in the doorway, glanced behind him as the swarm of voices grew louder. There was smoke belching out of the port side of the ship, and the mass of people covered their faces even as they inched as one closer to the railings. "Someone go keep that lot out of the way," the Captain growled. An ensign hurried to obey.

"What the hell was that?" Barret snapped, moving more surely into the room now that the ship had ceased its uneasy roll.

"We don't know, sir," said a woman studying what looked like an old-fashioned radar, her voice quavering every so slightly, "but there's something here you should take a look at, Captain." Barret followed the older man to the station, watched the woman point out a glowing blip on the screen.

"Shit," the Captain cursed. "Pirates." Barret blinked, but before he could do more there was the wail of another incoming missile, followed by a loud crash. The ship rocked again, throwing him and the Captain both across the room. The passengers moaned as one, tossed across the deck like rag dolls.

Barret had barely gained his feet on the sloping floor when the Captain was bellowing orders. "Someone find out the state of the engines, and call the WRO for back-up immediately. Goddamn son of a whore. It's good we were expecting something like this or there wouldn't be a friendly soul near us for a hundred miles ..."

"Here they come!" yelled the pilot. Barret watched in growing horror as a second ship sailed out of the darkness, much smaller in size but faster and far more agile than the _Intrepid_. She pulled up alongside the damaged cargo ship with no trouble at all.

Barret jumped when a hand landed firmly on his shoulder, and he turned to face the Captain's weary blue eyes. "See to your family and your belongings. If these goddamn vultures don't fleece you, there's bastards on this ship that will."

"Marlene!" Barret raced down the stairs, dashed through the crowd of terror-stricken passengers, scanning for any sign of his daughter. She could still be down below, he thought when he couldn't find her fast enough; maybe she was still below.

The passengers screamed and backed away when grappling hooks latched onto the railings, pulling the smaller vessel against the _Intrepid_ until the metal sides scraped and sparked. Barret found himself slowing in his search, eyes drawn inexorably to the flurry of shadow figures moving swiftly on the other deck. They leapt through the air, making the crowd gasp in fright. Barret could appreciate their organisation when several of their attackers formed a loose guard around their captives should anyone find a seed of courage within them. More of the pirates hurried to the bridge, dragging the Captain and other crewmen to join the rest of the passengers; a few disappeared below deck to round up any stragglers.

"Listen up!" bellowed a man, who appeared in a gap between two of the guarding pirates. In the dim light of the rising sun, Barret saw it was a man no older than himself, probably of Wutai descent judging from the stilted way he talked, with tattered grey clothing like the fishermen in Kalm wore, and an ugly long scar through his eyebrow that looked to have taken his eye out. "Nobody has to die. We are not here to kill anyone. Just give us your gold and jewelry and we will leave. Cooperate, and no one will get hurt." A woman sobbed next to Barret, and the air was thick with dread.

Barret fingered the line between the gun and his arm thoughtfully as he counted how many enemies there were, trying to work out a way he could attack them without hurting too many of the passengers. They were spaced all around, however, and he didn't think he could get a clear straight shot at any of them without then being riddled with holes himself. The guns they carried seemed pretty old, but a bullet was a bullet, and he just didn't have SOLDIER healing like Cloud – much as he hated to admit.

The door to the lower decks slammed open in the wind, making everyone flinch and gasp. Several children were herded towards the crowd, their sniffles tugging at Barret's heart even as it leapt into his throat. They dashed to their parents, sobs quickly stifled. The pirates' guns didn't once waver from their targets. Quickly, the clink of coins and jewelry hitting the deck filled the night as the passengers unburdened themselves without a fight. The pirate leader nodded in approval. Barret could feel sweat start to drip from his forehead; if Marlene wasn't on the deck, then he hoped to God that she was hiding somewhere below, and hadn't been injured in the explosions. If she was hurt ... Barret didn't know what he'd do.

"Good," the lead pirate said. A subordinate approached him, whispering in his ear. Barret saw the leader frown. "Apparently we are missing someone." He waved his hand, and several of their guards broke off to head below again.

"NO!" Barret leapt at them instinctively, and was struck in the face. They hit him again and again with the butt of a gun until he was prostrate on the floor, bloody and half-unconscious. Nose pressed to the deck, he breathed in great gasps of salty, icy air. His head throbbed with each heartbeat, and he could feel bruises forming across his shoulders and back. A foot lodged under his collar bone and rolled him over. He scowled, but couldn't quite focus on the blurry person standing over him.

"This is the one," a voice said, muffled in his ears. He'd really taken a knock to the head, he thought in a daze. "Keep a gun on him. Do not hesitate to shoot." He could feel the gaze of the other passengers on him, like lambs watching the slaughter of one of their flock. Their fear was more tangy on Barret's tongue than the brine and metal beneath his head. "Ladies, gentlemen, put your belongings in a pile at the front." Chink went the gil and bracelets. "Good. Now turn around. Keep your eyes away from us." Barret managed to pull himself upright, shaking the last of the fuzziness from his head. He felt sick.

"The WRO is here!" one of the guards shouted, followed swiftly by the deafening sound of airships zeroing on the _Intrepid_. Barret grinned as he spotted the _Shera_ leading the two smaller vessels.

"Get the goods!" the pirate captain bellowed, followed by a string of Wutai words that couldn't mean anything polite. "Nobody turn around!" Barret felt well enough to attempt to stand – thanking his lucky stars for a hard head – but with a gun still trained expertly on him he decided not to risk it.

Barret wasn't sure what to expect from such an ambush, but he was surprised when the first airship simply dropped a bomb on the pirate vessel. It missed by inches, and sent a huge salty spray over the deck of the _Intrepid_.

"Back to the ship!" The pirates immediately scrambled at the order. Barret staggered to his feet, already transforming his artificial limb into a gun. A second bomb was dropped from above, crashing into the pirate's ship with a blinding explosion. Barret ducked, shielding his face from the debris. He could feel the heat from the blast whip across his skin.

"Everyone move to the other side of the ship!" the Captain shouted over the din. The passengers stared blankly at him, too frozen to move. Barret fired his gun into the air to a chorus of screams.

"Now!" They stampeded, too much stress and panic intoxicating them, released at the blast of the gun like runners on a track. Some headed for the stairs below, some to the starboard side; in every which way they ran, there was shouting and sobbing. Shaking the last of the dizziness from his head, Barret made his way to higher ground, using his vantage point on the stairs to the bridge in order to scan the deck.

A shrill scream pierced the morning air like nothing Barret had heard in years. It sent pure fear through his nerves like a shot of poison. In a second he had spotted them, even amongst the panicking passengers. And he was gripped with horror.

"Marlene!" he bellowed. He couldn't tell if she heard him, but she struggled with the iron-like arm held across her throat. As Barret watched, gun wavering with the knowledge that he couldn't risk a shot with his daughter in the way, she managed to bring her captor's arm to her face and bit down _hard_. The man howled, ripping his hand away, and Barret almost cheered until Marlene was hit in the face so viciously she skidded across the deck. With an incoherent roar of rage, Barret brought his gun up and fired, and kept firing until the bastard that had struck Marlene was little more than bloody pulp.

"Daddy!" Her voice snagged his attention, drawing him out of his anger for a brief enough second to see she was caught around the waist by another pirate, one who had swung her to the other ship while Barret had killed his comrade.

"Marlene! You assholes! Give me back my daughter!" Barret aimed his gun at the deck and fired, scattering the pirate crew more efficiently than the unwieldy bombs had. He barely had time to see Marlene carried kicking and screaming below deck before the captain of the other ship picked up his gun, took quick aim, and fired.

The bullet struck Barret in the shoulder with such force he spun in place, a splatter of blood arcing up the wall behind him before he dropped to his knee, hand slamming over the wound. Gritting his teeth, Barret forced himself to stand and aimed at the captain. Another bullet sliced through him, a line of scorching fire across his cheek. The ricochet against the metal wall nearly deafened him.

The grappling hooks tore from the railings with a diminished clatter. In a matter of seconds the pirate vessel was gone, only one airship trailing it whilst the second and the _Shera_ threw ropes down to the _Intrepid_. The crew, shaken but calm, tied them off and watched helplessly as they were guided to shore. The Captain stood in the middle of them all, yet somehow more distant, his despair drawn like a thick cloak around him. In the shadow of the chimney, the passengers huddled in terror.

Barret descended the steps in a daze. He could feel the blood still pumping from his shoulder, a line of ice that stretched up through his neck and down to his fingers. His lips were numb. He found he couldn't tear his eyes away from the far horizon, over which the pirate ship had disappeared with Marlene on board. His baby girl, in the hands of pirates.

He made it to the railings before he vomited. Leaning over was agony on his shoulder, though, and he quickly had to sit down or risk collapsing. God, Marlene, he thought with a choked sob. If anything happened to her ... God. His face felt wet, but he didn't know if it was blood, seawater or tears. Fuck, Marlene ...


	5. This Is Me

Chapter Five: This Is Me

After a metallic _whap_ that echoed across the park, the can soared through the air, landing with a clatter that disturbed an animal scrounging in a nearby dumpster. Denzel lined up a second can, kicking it even further than the first. The third crashed against the wall of an empty building. The fourth shattered the window. The fifth flew wide. In disgust and out of cans, Denzel shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stalked off. Kicking cans was never fun without Marlene there, consistently screwing up for him to tease her about it. Now the game felt like a chore, hollow fun. He glared at the world.

It was getting pretty late, but Denzel didn't feel like going home yet. It didn't feel right. Marlene had been gone for eight days, and each had been more miserable than the last. Tifa kept right on with everyday life as if nothing had changed, while Cloud ... Nothing seemed to affect Cloud, Denzel decided. Delivery to Kalm? Fine. Delivery to Icicle Inn? Fine. Delivery to Mideel? Fine. It didn't seem to matter that a quarter of his family was gone for the summer, because Cloud himself hardly stayed home more than a couple of days at a stretch. Denzel couldn't tell if that made him mad or not, which in itself infuriated him.

He passed through Silence Street, ignoring the newly-built cathedral and the closed shops, took a left on Miracle Street, then cut through a dim alley that led him straight to the back of Seventh Heaven. He wished he had something else to do, maybe some friends to go visit, but the few boys he knew at school either lived on the other side of Edge or were away for the summer. Most kids at school were sent to Edge by their parents just for the cheap education, and went home every summer to help on the farm or whatever the heck they did. Even Rina and the other orphans had been shipped out of the city, 'for fresh air' or whatever. Denzel scowled at that.

"Hey," Tifa greeted him with a soft smile, busy stirring something in a large saucepan on the stove. Denzel didn't bother to reply, stomping up the stairs to his room and slamming the door. He immediately tripped over something on the floor and landed half on his bed and half on the floor, with a crash that sent a bolt of agony through his knee. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright, and glared at the offending shoe. His room was never normally this much of a mess, but he absolutely refused to clean it up.

There was a gentle knock on his door. Denzel resolved to ignore it, and threw himself back against the bed with a bounce. The knock came again, more persistently this time. Denzel scowled and flipped the radio on, though the effect was ruined when some weird dance adaptation of the _Loveless_ theme tune filtered through the static.

He sat up when the door creaked open, rage bubbling so violently in his chest that his hands were shaking, when a completely unexpected head popped into view. Cloud blinked at him, asking permission to enter without even a movement of his head. Denzel swallowed thickly, felt his anger drain away like so much water, and nodded once. The other man made his way over the detritus spread across Denzel's floor with more grace than Denzel himself had, and sat down at the bottom of the bed. Apart from the radio, still not quite tuned in, there was silence.

"I didn't know you were back," Denzel murmured awkwardly. Cloud shrugged one shoulder, and the silence settled again like a blanket of snow. "H-how was Fort Condor?" Denzel hated himself for stuttering.

"Fine. Less humid."

"Oh. That must've been nice." God, would the ground just open up and swallow him already? It gave him pains in his chest to think that he couldn't sit and talk to Cloud like he'd done when he was smaller. Even though Cloud had usually been doing other things whilst Denzel prattled on, he'd never given the impression of being annoyed or bored. Now, though ... Was Cloud bored? Did Denzel annoy him? God knew he annoyed himself most of the time.

"Mm," said Cloud. Denzel bit his lip, refusing to let himself cry. He was fourteen, for the love of all things, not some whiny brat who couldn't take care of himself. One of his fingers made a cracking sound when he twisted the corner of his blanket viciously between his hands, and he shook the slight pain out. He knew Cloud was watching him when his pale skin lit up a pale blue in the dark room.

"When are you leaving again?" Was that really his voice? It was so croaky, and warbled uncomfortably. He was just glad it hadn't squeaked, as he was prone to nowadays. God, he hated when that happened.

"Denzel." He looked up at Cloud's serious tone, and was instantly trapped by his unswerving gaze. Almost against his will, his shoulders came down from around his ears, and his stomach unclenched itself enough for him to realise he was kind of hungry, and that whatever Tifa was cooking smelt pretty good. He swallowed past the ball of tears in his throat and untwisted his fingers from the blanket. Exhaustion swept through him, after days of unending insomnia, as the tension in his back finally loosened. And Cloud was still watching him, unblinking, but it felt okay for Denzel to relax like this. He glowed blue under Cloud's focused eyes.

"Cloud!" Tifa's voice wafted up the stairs. Cloud nodded once at him, and Denzel managed to return a small smile. Cloud flipped the light switch on as he left, allowing Denzel to see the pigsty that was his room. It looked like a bomb had hit, raining down a torrent of dirty clothes and trampled magazines. Maybe he would clean his room a bit before heading downstairs to grab some dinner.

Denzel didn't trip once as he put his stuff away with the care typical of a teenager, clothes overflowing the laundry basket and his magazines shoved haphazardly in a box under his bed. The methodical work was soothing, though he'd die before admitting that to anyone at school.

As he worked, he remembered all the times he and Marlene had sat with Cloud out the back, chatting away to him or to each other as Cloud tinkered with Fenrir, keeping all the parts in top shape. Normally after a delivery all Cloud wanted to do was eat and sleep, but when he pulled out the tools for his bike, Denzel and Marlene made sure they were there to keep him company, because afterwards Cloud would always agree to play a game. Denzel felt kind of like he could play a game after he finished cleaning his room, but without Marlene there it wouldn't be the same. Oddly, though the thought made him sad, the anger didn't come back.

The low murmur of voices caught his attention before he was even halfway down the stairs; though it wasn't particularly late, Tifa closed the bar early on the last day of the week, ostensibly for 'family time' but just as much because they were usually low on stock by then. He poked his head around the arch of the door to see who was disturbing the peace of their quiet night.

It was Cloud, sat in a booth on the far side of the bar opposite a man with red hair he didn't know, slouched low and relaxed in his seat. Cloud was like a marble statue, arms folded, staring unflinchingly at the stranger's evasive face. Denzel wondered briefly if he would be able to sneak closer without Cloud noticing him, when Tifa beckoned him from the kitchen door. Sighing, Denzel gave up on his eavesdropping plans and made his way in, sniffing appreciatively at the smell.

"Hungry?" Tifa asked with a warm smile.

"Yeah," Denzel said, grinning back. He was a little puzzled at seeing her blink in surprise, but he guessed he had been a bit of a jerk. He blushed, rueful, and scuffed the back of his head with one hand in a gesture he'd seen Cloud do.

"Well, I've got curry and rice, if you want it." Denzel pulled out a stool from under the lopsided table.

"Yuffie's special?" he asked, perking up. It was probably his favourite food in the whole world, next to strawberry ice cream.

"Yup. One Wutai special coming up," Tifa declared, and ladled the curry over a large heaping of rice. Once it was placed in front of him, Denzel tucked in with gusto, barely noticing as Tifa sat beside him, a steaming cup of cocoa cradled in her hands from which she took careful sips. In the end, he managed two portions of the curry before he was stuffed to the brim, and he pushed his bowl away with a fruity burp.

"Sorry," he said, blushing, though Tifa chuckled.

"I'll take it as a compliment." She collected his cutlery and bowl, leaving them to soak in the sink. Denzel watched her pour the leftover curry into a Tupperware box. Usually he didn't think about it, but he was suddenly struck with the abstract memory of her stepping in front of him with her fists raised, ready to take on a monster a hundred times her size. He only remembered fragments from the period two years ago when he drank the black water, disjointed pieces of time that scraped against his memories, unable to fit and unwilling to be forgotten. But Tifa was there, clear in his mind, a powerful figure that was hard to reconcile with the woman humming as she pottered around her kitchen.

"Who's Cloud talking to?" Denzel asked as the quiet stretched on.

"Just a friend." She didn't look up from scrubbing the saucepan with vigour. Denzel frowned.

"How come he hasn't been here before? I've never seen him." Tifa blew the hair out of her face.

"He's not a very close friend," she admitted. Denzel blinked at that, turning to face the door even though the voices in the adjacent room had never risen beyond a murmur.

"Then what does he want with Cloud?" he asked wonderingly, not expecting or receiving an answer from Tifa. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, she poured the dirty water out of the oversized saucepan and left it to dry on the dishrack.

Cloud himself appeared suddenly in the doorway, a small crease between his brows the only sign that he was at all troubled. He brightened when Tifa smiled at him. "Are you hungry?" she asked. The front door shut with a distant click.

"A little," was his reply. She moved to pour him some of the curry, but he hurried to stop her. "No, I'll get it. Sit down." Ducking her head, Tifa grabbing more hot cocoa under Denzel's curious eye.

"What did Reno want?" she asked. Denzel turned to Cloud, expectant, tracking his movements back and forth across the kitchen as he served his dinner. Cloud didn't answer until he sat at the table with them, practically inhaling a mound of curry in one mouthful.

"Just some information," he said. Denzel rolled his eyes at the evasive answer that piqued his curiosity even more. Tifa shot him a sympathetic look but stayed silent, drinking her cocoa. Cloud didn't seem to notice or care that they were both watching him eat. His spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl almost spotless before he stood, rinsed it in the sink and left it to dry.

"Time for bed, Denzel," Tifa said, also rising. Denzel opened his mouth to protest – he wasn't a kid, after all – but the yawn that came out changed his mind. With a sheepish wave he headed up the stairs, detoured to his bedroom to change into his pyjamas, and entered the bathroom. It threw him for a second not to see Marlene's toothbrush in the cup with his, but he shook it off, too tired to deal with missing her so much. He cleaned his teeth quickly and stumbled to his room as another wave of tiredness hit him. Six days with hardly any sleep, and he was paying for it now. Crawling under the covers from the bottom of the bed to the top, his head had barely brushed the pillow before he felt himself drifting off to sleep.

* * *

In his dreams, he was much smaller, but still the same age. He wandered through the ruins of Midgar looking for someone, though he wasn't sure who. He passed bodies frozen like statues, their faces contorted in odd ways, but didn't stop to examine them even when his eyes spied his father, his mother, Mrs Tuesti, even Tifa. After what seemed ages, with the giant sun glaring red hot in the sky like a second Meteor, he finally found a live person besides himself amongst the city's warped metal skeleton. He blinked in surprise when he recognised the trademark blond hair. Curious, he jogged over to the figure, and found him slumped over the hilt of Ultima Weapon. The blade was buried deep in the ground.

"What are you doing?" asked the Denzel that was dreaming. Cloud looked up, up, up at Denzel, as if he was smaller, though he still seemed bigger at the same time. Dream Denzel paid it no heed. The big/small Cloud pushed himself away from the sword and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand. His face was flushed.

"I can't get it out," he said. His nose scrunched in the same way Marlene's did when something disgusted her. The two stared at the embedded sword. Its metal shined painfully into their eyes under the scorching sun, yet Denzel felt kind of cold beneath his jacket. Finally, Cloud turned to him. "Can you do it?" His voice was almost accusing.

Denzel stepped back in surprise. "Of course not," he said. "I'm not strong enough. I could never be strong enough." Cloud folded his arms, unimpressed.

"You'll never be as good as me, then," he scoffed. A stab of hurt speared Denzel's heart.

"But I'm trying!" he beseeched. Cloud rolled his eyes, and Denzel saw they were green instead of glowing blue; the pupil was slitted like Kadaj's had been. He swallowed thickly.

"God, Denzel. How the hell am I meant to do everything for you? You won't even try. Sometimes I don't even know why I put up with you. Why don't you just get lost?" Gripping the hilt in one hand, Cloud gave a violent tug that loosed the sword with an ear-shattering screech of metal against metal. The ground shuddered and cracked beneath Denzel's feet –

* * *

His restless sleep was shattered when the door to the bar slammed open with a bang that ricocheted around the house. Bolting upright, he listened intently to the screech of the kitchen stools against the floor. He could picture Cloud and Tifa as they dashed into the main room, bristling to take on anyone that dared attack their home.

"What the hell?" Cloud's voice was just loud enough to carry upstairs. Denzel scrambled out of bed at the tone. It was easy to sneak down the stairs, edging around every creaky step until he was flush against the wall, just able to see the vague reflections in the glass photos opposite. He strained to hear the adults talking over the thump-thump of his heart.

"I just got a call from the boss. There's been an attack." Denzel wasn't sure who the slightly breathless words belonged to, but he guessed it was the redhead – Reno? – from earlier.

"Where?" That was Tifa, tension lacing her voice.

"The _Intrepid_. Reports are spotty but – Cloud, the boss says your kid is gone."

There was a ringing silence. Denzel choked on air and had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep any noise from coming out. His eyes felt as wide as saucers.

"Marlene?" gasped Tifa. Denzel risked a quick glance around the edge of the wall; Tifa's hand was flat over her mouth much as his was, whilst Cloud and the redhead were locked in some kind of staring contest. Denzel's stomach lurched, and his knees felt like jelly. "We have to find her!" Tifa exclaimed.

"Hush. Don't wake Denzel," Cloud murmured, frowning thoughtfully. Denzel felt far away from his body, listening in through those stupid tin can phones Barret made for them once.

A phone bleeped at an incoming message. "Shit," muttered Reno. Denzel heard the click as it was opened, the SMS read. "Guys, I gotta go. The boss is calling for me." Rapid footsteps and the opening of a door ...

"Reno." Cloud's voice demanded absolute attention. "Why are you telling us this? Rufus never lets this kind of information go for free." His words were like ice.

"I don't know, yo. He gives the orders, I follow them. I don't stand around asking questions." With that, Reno was gone, the door clattering shut behind him. The silence afterwards stretched on and on.

"What do we do?" Denzel could hardly tell that was Tifa, so strangled was her voice. He felt it like a rope around his own throat, clenched his fingers at his neck reflexively as if to tear it away.

"I'll go find her." Cloud sounded completely confident, making Denzel dare another glance around the corner. He and Tifa stood facing each other, inches apart, Cloud's hands holding Tifa's arms.

"But what about the mercenary? Reno said –" Tifa whispered.

"I don't care," Cloud interrupted. His eyes flashed like steel in sunlight. Tifa stared at him, then nodded once.

"I'll go with you," she said firmly.

Cloud stepped back, dropping his hands. "No. You can't."

"Why not?" Tifa challenged, folding her arms. "Marlene – she's my family! You can't just expect me to stay here, wondering whether you're both okay or if you're hurt." Cloud just looked at her, almost coolly, standing eye to eye and toe to toe. Tifa softened, head tilting. "I'm not suddenly weak, okay? You don't have to worry about me. I can still fight." Her fingers clenched into deadly fists as if to prove the point. Cloud shook his head.

"What about Denzel?" he asked softly. Ice formed in Denzel's gut. "This might not be easy. We can't just leave him here, or give him to someone else for a while." Cloud stepped forward, ignorant of the effect his words had on the hiding boy, and carefully wrapped his arms around Tifa, her bowed head tucked against his neck. "I know you can fight," he murmured. "I just –"

"You just don't want me to," Tifa finished, with a tear-heavy sigh. "Alright. I'll stay here with Denzel." She sounded heartbroken.

Denzel stumbled backwards. Somehow he made it up the stairs without being caught, using his hands when his legs threatened to give out from under him. He landed on his bed heaving like he'd run a race. His heart drummed sickly, thud-thud-thud in his temples and ears, and his vision was snowy as if he'd pressed his fingers hard into his eyes.

His brain short-circuited, the same empty words spiralling around his head until they lost meaning, became strings of syllables gibbering against the walls of his skull. God, Marlene. They'd taken – Someone had taken – But why had they –? Where –? Was she –? There was a knot in his throat like a trapped scream.

It felt like mere moments had passed when soft footsteps padded up the stairs, and Denzel was aware enough that he couldn't be found on top of his covers. Almost without conscious thought, his body wriggled beneath the blankets, pulling them over his head when he realised he couldn't close his eyes. They were glued open, unseeing in the darkness, and painfully dry. The steps paused at the door briefly, followed by the swish of air as it was clicked shut. Denzel lay like a corpse on his bed, straining his ears through the walls for sounds of movement next door. Drawers rolling open and closed, jars or bottles clinking, the brush of cloth, then more footsteps again receding down the stairs. Minutes later Fenrir's engine roared to life, and Cloud sped off through Edge's winding streets.

Denzel didn't move, hardly breathed, until Tifa had passed his room on the way to bed. He heard the bed creak as she climbed in, shifting under the covers. His heart clenched when, not long after, she started crying, quiet sobs poorly muffled by her pillow. He worked spit past the knot in his throat, feeling his brain start to come back to his body in odd waves of sensation. His hands were clammy, and his tongue oddly sore. He felt queasy.

Tifa was stuck at the bar because of him. That was the first clear thought that formed in his mind, with a pang like lightning to his stomach. Marlene was out there – kidnapped – whilst her adoptive mother was forced to babysit some worthless kid Cloud had brought home one day. And Cloud himself was out there, on the hunt already, a one-man Search and Rescue team. Denzel swallowed bile.

But, he was worried about Marlene too, damnit! Didn't that give him a right to be involved? How could they even think not to wake him up immediately to tell him what had happened? Now Cloud was gone, Marlene was gone, Tifa was still crying in the adjacent room, and he was supposed to lie asleep in bed as if nothing was wrong? Screw that. He could help, even if his guardians didn't think so. Even if he had to do it alone.

In less than five minutes, Denzel had his schoolbag packed with clothes and all the gil from his money box shoved deep in his pockets. He darted down the stairs, shooting furtive glances behind him in case Tifa came out of her room. After raiding the kitchen for whatever food he could carry, Denzel stood with a hand on the back door. One last look at the dim interior of his home, where hours before he'd sat with Tifa and Cloud, then he steeled his nerve and walked out into dawn-pink Edge.


End file.
